Jack Zane: Evil at Storm Lake

by Jan Sumner

  Chapter 6

  He’d decided to go back out to the farm the next day by himself, just to look around. There was a part of him that needed to envision what had happened there. Maybe it was the writer in him; maybe the son.

  He waited until his dad left for work. Now, knowing what had taken place there, the drive out felt different; unnatural. The day was overcast and cold, heavy dark clouds with the threat of rain. As he approached the old farmhouse, it looked almost ghostlike. It was as if it were beckoning to him. Slowly he pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the house. He sat in the car staring at it. My God, he thought, my great grandparents were killed here and my mother was beaten and could have lost her life…I wouldn’t be here. It was a chilling consideration.

  He walked around to the back of the house. The door and windows were boarded up, but he had to see the inside. He kicked in the back door. There were some old torn drapes hanging on the insides of windows and broken down old furniture here and there. Cobwebs and dust covered everything. He propped up part of an old crate and sat down. All these years had gone by and he had never known any of this and hadn’t cared. Now, here he was sitting in the middle of it. He didn’t quite know how he felt; somber, cold, and certainly melancholy. As he looked around he began to wonder exactly where it had happened. Were there any remnants of it? Although morbid, his curiosity far exceeded any feelings he had of being morose. He began to move around the room, looking for clues. It had been so long ago, over 30 years; there couldn’t possibly be any evidence remaining. Undaunted he continued his search. Carefully he made his way upstairs. Boards were gone and others were broken. Sections of floor were missing and he could see right through to the first floor. He cautiously maneuvered through each room. There were three bedrooms and a large bath. The tub was gone, but the hole was there. The upstairs was completely empty, no signs of life…or death.

  On his way back down his foot broke a timber on the stairs and he fell awkwardly onto the partial railing. His hand slid forward onto a large rusty nail, the pain was excruciating. It went deep and as he pulled his hand back he began to bleed profusely. He ran to the car and dug an old rag out of the trunk. The makeshift bandage wasn't stopping the bleeding and he knew he had to get back to town and find a doctor. Pulling out of the driveway, he looked at the old house and thought; I’ll be back.

  He headed to the drug store, assured that his dad would know a local doctor. Of course, he was going to have to explain how this happened, but really needed medical attention. He found his dad stocking some shelves, “Hey dad, how are you,” trying to hide the bloody, bandaged hand.

  “Jonathan, what a surprise. What are you doing here?”

  Reluctantly he held out his hand. “Well, I sort of hurt my hand.”

  His dad grabbed his hand, “My God, what happened? You’re bleeding!”

  “Dad, I went back out to the farm, was looking around and fell on the stairs. A nail went into my hand.”

  “Well, we’ve got to get you to the doctor. Come on I’ll take you.”

  As the car moved quickly down the street Jonathan said, “I just had to go back out there. You know, just look around. I’m sorry.”

  “Son, you have nothing to be sorry for. I understand your curiosity, but remember, curiosity killed the cat, just make sure it doesn’t kill you.” He turned and smiled at Jonathan.

  They pulled up and parked at Dr. Jim Wiggin's office a few blocks from the drug store. “I’ll take you in and introduce you, then I’d better get back to the store. When you’re done call me and I’ll come get you.”

  He took him in and introduced him to Dr. Wiggins, who was about Jonathan’s age. He was taken to an examination room where the nurse quickly came in and began cleaning the wound. “Have you worked for Dr. Wiggins long?”

  “Oh yes, for a while. He’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, but is he a good doctor?” he said trying to be funny.

  Looking at him questioningly she said, “Well, he’d better be, he’s the only one we have.”

  She left the room, telling him the doctor would be in shortly. His hand had been cleaned and was feeling better. Unlike New Orleans, the doctor here appeared in a few minutes. “Sorry you had to wait, Jonathan, but Mrs. Hale was being typically impatient. Let’s have a look at that hand.”

  Jonathan liked him immediately. He seemed kind and genuine. After a few painful minutes, stitches, and a tetanus shot, Jonathan asked if he had a minute to talk. Dr. Wiggins took him to his office. “Have a seat. Hope you don’t mind if I eat my lunch while we talk.”

  “Oh no, not at all. I don’t want to interrupt your lunch, I can…”

  “No, please stay. I’ve always liked and admired your dad, and I’d like to get to know you…again.”

  They sat and chatted about life in New Orleans and Independence and how different their lives were. Jonathan remembered Jim when they were both little, but Jim and his mom had moved away when he was about ten. He’d gone on to school and gotten his medical degree before he decided to come back to Independence to take over his dad’s family practice. After a little more reminiscing, Jim asked him how he hurt his hand.

  “I was out at the old Taylor farm and fell on some dilapidated stairs.”

  “What were you doing out there?” He asked munching down some chips.

  “Well, that was my great grandparents’ home, and I just wanted to see it before I headed back to New Orleans.”

  Taking a sip of Pepsi he asked, “Forgive me, but weren’t they killed out there – shot by that madman?”

  Jonathan couldn’t believe it. Jim knew all this, and he didn’t. “No, that’s alright, and yes they were. Can I ask how you knew?”

  “Well, again forgive me, but as I remember your mother was out there when it happened. I only know this because my dad told me. He was the one who examined her…after it happened. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  Still a little in shock Jonathan said, “No, really it’s okay. To be honest it’s one of the reasons I hung around. I’ve been away a long time and with Fran’s death, I've begun to realize how neglectful I’ve been. I wanted to spend some time with my dad and also to find out about my family.”

  “You know, Jim, I’m glad you told me. I’m trying to find out as much as I can.”

  “Well, Jonathan, if that’s true you might want to talk to my dad.”

  “Your dad? He’s still…here?”

  Jim polished off the last bite of his sandwich and said, “You bet. He lives in the house right behind us. He’s retired and just taking it easy. He had a slight stroke a few years ago, so he’s…a little, slow, but I’m sure he’ll remember. You’re more than welcome to try.”

  “That would be great. You said us; you’re married?”

  “Very, that was my wife who cleaned your wound.”

  “Great, and I was kidding her about your competence.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. She’s used to it, after all, what are they going to do? I’m the only game in town.”

  Jim escorted him to the waiting room and let him use the phone. He also gave him the senior Dr. Wiggins' phone number and told him he’d let him know he’d be calling.

  In a few minutes, Jonathan's dad arrived. He picked up his car at the drug store and drove home. His hand was throbbing. His dad had given him some pain medicine along with the antibiotic Dr. Wiggins had prescribed. He went upstairs, popped his pills and took a nap. Tomorrow he’d contact old Doc Wiggins. Hopefully, he could remember.

  There was a light tapping at the door, “Jonathan, are you awake?” His dad did not want to disturb him, but did want to find out if his hand was all right.

  “Son, are you okay?”

  Wearily, he sat up in bed. “Yeah dad, I’m fine.” He threw on his robe and shuffled to the door. He cracked it open and went back to sit on the bed. His hand was throbbing and
felt twice the size of his other one. His dad came and sat down on the bed beside him.

  “How is it feeling?

  “Well, its felt better. But I’m sure once I get up and around, take my pills and have some breakfast, it’ll be fine.”

  “You know I’m off today, so if you need some help, or someone to drive, let me know. I’m just hanging around doing some chores.”

  “Thanks dad, but I think I’ll be okay. I’ll clean up, eat and then call, and hopefully go over and see the senior Dr. Wiggins.”

  His dad stood up and said, “You’re going over to see him, huh?”

  “Yeah, he saw mom after…well, anyway, I thought I’d go talk to him.”

  “Well, forgive me if I don’t go along. There are some parts of this I’d just a soon not be aware of.” He started for the door.

  “Dad, please know, I’m not doing any of this to hurt you.”

  “I know son. But, you have to remember, I was here. I lived through it and even though I understand what you’re doing, it still hurts.” He turned and went out the door, closing it behind him. Jonathan sat staring at the closed door. Maybe he should just drop this. He’d found out what had happened, at least most of it. Why put his dad through any more?

  No matter what he was going to do, he did have to clean up and have some breakfast. Showering with this heavy bandage on was a whole new experience. He finally put a plastic bag over his hand and struggled along washing with his one good hand. It took quite a bit longer, and he wasn’t sure he got all the areas he needed to. Hopefully, eating would be easier.

  It was…a little. His dad had left breakfast warming on the stove for him and was out in the back yard raking leaves and trimming shrubs. Jonathan stood at the kitchen counter eating and watching his dad work. He thought, what a fine man, and what a fine father. He put the plate down and went out to the back yard. “Dad, can we talk a minute?” His dad leaned on the rake, “Sure son. What’s on your mind?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I need to go forward with it, but I promise I won’t ask you any more questions, or involve you in any way, unless you specifically ask to be.”

  His dad, still leaning on the rake, looked up through Bertha and said, “Boy, she’s been here a long time, seen a lot, heard a lot. I remember when you and Matt would climb all the way to the top. It used to scare the heck out of me. But I knew you had to do it, find out if you could. Well, I guess this isn’t any different. You have to find out for yourself. So if I sometimes seem a little afraid or apprehensive, maybe now you’ll understand. Go, do what you have to do, and if I want to know anything, I’ll ask.” He smiled warmly and went on with his raking.

  Jonathan made his phone call and found both Dr. Wiggins’ there and told them he’d be right over.

  It was a brick house in the older part of town. Jim Wiggins greeted him on the front porch, inquired about his hand and took him in to meet his dad.

  He had white thinning hair, a drawn face, and dark brown eyes. There were obvious signs of a stroke, a bent hand and arm and slight tightness on the left side of his face. His speech although slow, was clear.

  “Dad, this is Steve’s son, Jonathan. Remember I told you he was coming over.”

  Walter Wiggins sat processing the information. “Yes, I…remember.”

  Jonathan suddenly felt uncomfortable. What could this poor old man remember about something that happened over 30 years ago?

  “Jim, I’m sorry I asked you and your dad to do this. I should probably just leave. He looks tired and…”

  “Jonathan, he’s always like this. He’ll be fine. Believe it or not he was anxious to see you again. He actually remembered when you fell out of that big tree in your back yard and broke your arm.

  “His memory, especially long term, is fine. It just takes a while to get it out.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause any trauma.”

  “Come on, sit down. I’ll help you. Ask whatever you want.”

  Jonathan thought he’d make it short and sweet and not tire him out. He asked about his mom and what Dr. Wiggins remembered about her and what happened to her.

  Slowly, but very matter-of-factually, Dr. Wiggins told him what he remembered. She had been a delightful and beautiful young woman; always happy and upbeat. That day however, she was in bad shape.

  “When they brought…her in, …she was cut…and bruised, and…had obviously been…beaten.” He stopped and took a long sip of his water, wiped off his mouth, smiled gently, then continued. “She was…crying. I told her…I needed…to treat…her cuts…and bruises. I did…the best I…could…and sent her home. I’m sorry…that’s all…I can…remember.”

  Jonathan thanked them both and told Jim how much he appreciated it and hoped he hadn’t tired his dad too much. Jim assured him it was fine and not to worry about it. He just hoped it had helped.

  Driving back home he thought how amazing it was to sit and talk to the man who had actually treated his mom after this tragic incident. He wasn’t sure how much help it had been, but he was glad he’d done it.

  He didn’t exactly know what to do next. And, for some odd reason, Matt kept drifting in and out of his mind.